Finding Our Truth
by her illusion
Summary: What started out as curiousity on Hermione's part gradually progresses through obstacles and doubt into something much better than she had expected. An AU Tomione with no time travel involved(and Tom as a rather misunderstood soul).


Tom didn't notice her the first time he set eyes on her, which suited him just fine. He didn't believe in the idea of love at first sight – maybe it existed, he wasn't disputing that – but he knew he would never be one of the people who experienced it. For all his faults, he could at least say one thing for himself – that he was very self-aware. And also cautious, which could be seen as good or bad according to the situation he found himself in, or so Hermione said. Sometimes he thought that if not for the fact that she seemed to have Slytherin tendencies too, he wouldn't be able to stand her. The way she charged so recklessly into some things when he _knew_ very well that she _had_ enough intellectual ability to find a better alternative if only she just thought about it for a while longer…never mind. He'd had this argument, or at least variations of it with her dozens of times, and he'd realized it was pretty much pointless. For one, she was even more stubborn than him, which was really rather amazing. Secondly, she did have a point – without that rugged determination she had and the courage that Gryffindor was famed for which led her to take the first step, they would never have gotten to where they were at now.

She wasn't the only person to take an interest in him, despite his attempt to keep a low profile, but she was the only one who managed to get as far as she did. Most people took the hint and left him alone after the repeated rebuffs he gave, but she was and is the exception. There was just something about her that _got_ to him, an innocence that he had lost a long time ago. He might not have been consciously aware of it then, but it made him strike out at her – no, not physically. Tom might not have been taught much moral lessons where he grew up, but he was aware that hitting girls was wrong. Part of him hated her, for she brought to life the cruelty of the world with the stark contrast she made when compared to him. It was something everyone came to realize as they matured, and how he loathed her then, for lifting the veil from his eyes before he was ready for it. Of course, now he saw that no one was ever ready for that particular truth regardless of their age. She simply refused to give up, despite the burning glares he shot her – which she later admitted _had_ intimidated her, although it certainly hadn't seemed that way at the time – and irritated retorts he gave.

That was just one of the things which showed how much she affected him, to be able to make him lose control when he had vowed to remain silent to all her persistent queries till she finally saw fit to stop them. It definitely didn't help to reduce the dislike he had towards her, for his control was yet another item which made up the list of what he considered his strengths. But for all his self-awareness, even Tom didn't realize the undercurrent to his actions. Or if he did, he would have denied that it was there. He was wildly trying to push her away, to stop her from getting through his walls, for as much as he longed to be like the other students he saw, he was convinced it was impossible and didn't want her to disrupt the order in his structured world. He insisted to himself that he was perfectly content with the way things were, that he enjoyed the solitude because it gave him more time to think and reflect. That he wasn't _lonely_. Her unending compassion for all sorts of causes though, had gotten her used to trying to help people or creatures who didn't want to be helped.

You might wonder, why had she fixated on _him_, of all people? If she wanted to unravel the mystery of a Slytherin, it wasn't like there weren't enough for her to easily take her pick from. But it all started because Hermione, perceptive as she was, gradually came to notice how Tom tamped down his brilliance in subtle ways, and she found it a very odd thing to do indeed. It made a stark contrast to Ron, who always tried to mention his chess skills in conversations – she wasn't quite sure if he was trying to boast or trying to get more people to play against, frankly, but her point was that most people did enjoy some degree of recognition for their abilities. The temptation of the puzzle this presented was too appealing for her to resist, but unfortunately, it was only during the middle of third year that she managed to develop and implement a plausible plan. It all started out quite simply. First, she would have to ensure he actually knew her and then adjust her approach accordingly from there. She found him at her favourite haunt, and couldn't help the approval that washed over her – because _oh_, how often she wished Harry or Ron were more like her and cared more about their studies.

She was aware that she didn't_need _a study companion. In fact if they did join her, they would more likely decrease her productivity with their constant queries. It wasn't that she minded helping them – it made her feel useful and acted as extra revision in a sense, but it did get tiring, being sort of a human encyclopaedia. Sometimes when they argued, she would brood over whether they only remained friends with her so they could pick her brains. She would feel guilty afterwards, for doubting them like that, but it wasn't like she could help it. She knew they found her frequent nagging at them to finish their work annoying. Ron had made a cutting remark about how she wasn't their mum, once, but it was only for their own good. They would be upset if they did badly, and how did they expect to do well, as little effort as they put in? She would contemplate the possibility of studying with Tom at a later date, she didn't plan to count her chickens before they hatched. So she surreptitiously set her books down on a nearby table, mildly surprised that he didn't glance up at the noise like most others would have.

She wanted to approach him only after a while, so that her motives weren't quite so obvious. She set to work like she normally did, except that this time she intended to stop after she finished her Potions essay and pretend to ask if he had any ink she could borrow. It was originally a quill, but she figured that this way, she had an excuse to move to his table unless he was 1 of the rare people who took to carrying an extra bottle around. She was glad that she had took a breath to steel her nerve, for when she stood in front of him, ready to carry out her act, he finally looked up, And she understood at least part of the reason why he didn't seem to have any friends. This close to him, she could see that his steel grey eyes, though striking, had a coldness in them which was almost frightening. Not that that was enough to put her off her mission, of course.

"Hello, you're Tom Riddle, aren't you? I'm-" He proceeded to cut her off rather rudely in a bored sounding drawl, "Just get to it."

"Do you have any ink you could lend me?"

"Nope." He seemed to resume his work as she remained where she was, stunned speechless.

"But you-you're using it right now!"

"I _am_ aware."

Well, she certainly hadn't planned for this, she thought rather grimly as she got the message he implied – that she wasn't welcome. It would take more than a haughty teenage boy to discourage her from her path, though.

"Well then. Thank you, anyway."

She was unaware of Tom's thoughtful gaze on her as she packed up. It might not have seemed like anything to rejoice over, even if she had noticed, but it was extraordinary for him to have spent even the few seconds of his attention he did on any of the students who approached him. Hermione would probably be surprised to find out that her response was the most courteous he had received so far, even more so than the Slytherins. Thus he allowed himself to think on how odd that was briefly, especially when she was from Gryffindor, before he returned to his work. Their next interaction was a week later, during Arithmancy. After Professor Vector announced that they would be doing a project, she partnered them up with people from different Houses. He fixed her with an irritated glare as she slid into the seat beside him, even though it wasn't exactly her fault that they were stuck together. For all he knew, she might have arranged it with the professor beforehand. Perhaps it was overly suspicious of him, but he had the right to be, it was his House's predominant trait, after all. Even if he didn't think Gryffindors were capable of such devious plots, he couldn't excuse the possibility.

If she really did make such a request, there was no doubt that it would be obliged, the teacher's pet she was. The professor was probably glad to have the trouble of fretting over who to put him with taken out of her hands, in fact. He wasn't naive enough to believe that the teachers didn't gossip as much as the students did, and his 'exploits' about what had happened to his partner on the previous project had no doubt been spread as a warning to the others to watch out for him, he thought bitterly. Zacharias Smith had dared to claim _he_ was the one who hadn't been cooperating, and the worst part of it was that he _had_, for once, tried his best to be agreeable, but the truth was that he had simply never possessed a high tolerance for nonsense, and that was something the Hufflepuff had in abundance together with arrogance. It was alright if the latter was justified, but his ignorant insistence that he was right when he obviously wasn't finally made his already fraying threads of control snap. He kept such a tight rein on himself that it spoke for how much of an idiot the boy had been, really. He barely remembered what he had actually done when he blew up, except that his accidental magic had flared and the boy had ended up in the infirmary.

He had been let off with just a reprimand since it hadn't been intentional, but the mistrustful look on Professor McGonagall's face had spoken volumes. Not that he cared about her opinion of him, but it just rankled that she hadn't even seen fit to ask him for his side of it. Like she simply assumed his actions were unprovoked. Not that he expected anything else from adults by now, but it just made him hate himself more for the small hope he couldn't seem to quash each time, that there would somehow be a different outcome. He felt a small pang of – _something _– though, when he finally roused himself and noticed that he had been lost in thought for longer than he had expected, as he heard the soft murmurs of discussion around him and realised that instead of disturbing him, Hermione had left him alone and was quietly working on some of the equations. That was something he was unused to, most people left all or at least a large portion of the work to him, seeming to feel like he deserved to put in more effort simply for being a Slytherin.

One could argue that she wanted to claim credit for all the work, but watching her scribble on her parchment with such concentration, even he found that hard to believe. She appeared to sense his scrutiny, pausing to address him about setting a time to meet and continue their work. He didn't answer her straightaway, sliding her work over to check it, and was startled to find it of better quality than what he normally saw. That was right – she was the one Professor Snape had called an insufferable know it all, wasn't she? And she _had_ approached him in the library…it hadn't occurred to him then, but it had slipped his mind, how uncommon it was to see others from any other House except Ravenclaw there when exams weren't around the corner. She was more patient than he had given her credit for, he noted, the only sign of her increasing frustration with the wait he was putting her through being her fidgeting. He saw her twirling a section of her unruly curls, not flirtatiously but absently, in a way which suggested that it was a habit.

Generally his policy was to split the work then collate it later, but he decided warily to make an exception this time. He wasn't exactly keen to subject himself to more of her company, but he conceded that it would certainly go faster if they did it together. Besides, her intelligence and behaviour thus far would hopefully reduce the unpleasantness of it. He held out a hand towards her, pleased when she understood him immediately without requiring any further elaboration and passed her schedule to him.

"Tuesday at 7."

He was sorely tempted to revise that impression when the time came around for their meeting and she appeared 5 minutes late, flustered and panting. Oh, she apologised, but what use was that if she continued this kind of behaviour? His time was allocated neatly into slots, and he had no intention of letting her waste any if he could help it. His chilly manner had her more subdued than usual, at least, and he hoped it was off-putting enough for her to abort any ideas she had about them being friends. After several of such meetings, Hermione sighed, finally giving up her fruitless attempt to revise. The whole situation was at a stalemate. She could barely get him to talk at all – their discussions were carried out through notes, and though she admired his script, which was unusually tidy for a guy's, it wasn't precisely much to go from. And she couldn't quite insist that he speak since silence was to be maintained in the library and it actually made more sense to communicate like that to prevent any possibility of them getting kicked out. His manner towards her was stiffer than ever after her initial late entrance, for which Harry and Ron were to blame, not that she could really, well, throw a tantrum about it since they would be furious if they knew about her plan.

One evening, it finally blew up in their faces. She had had yet another argument with Harry and Ron about how they should be studying more instead of focusing so much on Quidditch. In other words, nothing new, but she had been under so much stress at that point that she had just snapped when she came across Tom in the corridor outside their Charms classroom. Cliché or not, it really was true – he had just been in the wrong place at the wrong time. It sounded rather ridiculous in retrospect, considering he hadn't done anything out of the normal except give her that smirk which at that point in time had seemed particularly infuriating, appearing to convey the message about how he knew she had bitten off more than she could chew and was barely coping with her studies especially with all the extra credit projects she had asked for from the professors at the start of term. She knew the sensible thing to do would be to give them up now, but she hated to admit defeat. Besides, how shameful it would be, to inform them of her failure to complete what she had voluntarily requested herself?

She reflected later that she must have been out of her mind, to grab his arm then start shouting at him in such a location especially when it was already past curfew. Not that she had been aware of the latter then – she hadn't exactly been keeping track of the time, as harried as she was over her large amounts of unfinished work. Still, it had been a pretty reckless thing to do, and she supposed she ought to count herself lucky that he hadn't hexed her. Or perhaps he had been too stunned, since she usually tried to be the epitome of control – not that she could ever match him though, obviously – around him, given that he probably had enough reasons to be wary of her without having to worry about unexpected outbursts of the sort she quite frequently experienced from Ron, she thought rather ruefully. So anyhow, when they got caught by Professor McGonagall, it was really no surprise. His eyes though…they were really more expressive than he probably realized. She wondered with a pang whether it was because no one really cared enough to look into them deep enough to notice.

A flash of surprise when she had begun her tirade which had then shifted into a weary resignation which dragged at her, guilt nagging her even when she didn't understand what she had done wrong. It wasn't as if she had planned to shout at him! He really was very confusing, she concluded as she stole a sideways glance at the boy who was currently the focus of her thoughts. She didn't see why he found the fact that she had reported the truth of their encounter to the professor so shocking. Well, at least she seemed to have him as confused as she herself was, judging by the frustrated unease that shone out of his eyes, not that that was much comfort. The interrogation did begin after they ended detention as she expected, though.

"What do you want from me? Why - you could have easily told McGonagall I had ambushed you, and she would have believed it!" His bewildered exclamation finally made him sound his age, she noted, even as she realised with a shock what he couldn't comprehend was the reason behind a fact that shouldn't even need to be explained. He was asking her in not so direct terms why she hadn't taken advantage of him when she could. Merlin, what kind of environment must he have grown up in, to think like that? She couldn't say for sure, but if it had been any other Slytherin, she figured they would have just accepted that she was nice enough to let them off the hook and not question their luck. Then again, she _had_ chosen to focus on him because she thought he was different, hadn't she? She might be more perceptive than many of her age, but ultimately, she was still young enough to have not thought quite so far into the matter to guess at the cruelty he seemed to have been subjected to. She tried to curb the pity in her gaze before answering him earnestly, "Because it's what's _right_. Because no one deserves to have undeserved blame pushed to them."

At his clearly incredulous look, she added, "Yes, even if you are a Slytherin and you all have a nasty reputation, I haven't any reason to wish ill on you. I know you don't consider me a friend, but I'll like you to know I don't think of you as an enemy either, and I'm not averse to the idea of us becoming more than just acquaintances who are civil to each other."

Her statement only garnered silence in response, and she managed to direct a weak smile at him before she turned to go. She figured this sort of matter would need more than a moment's consideration, and it would do no good to pressure him for an answer before he was ready to give one. That didn't mean she had any intention of allowing him to push her words to the back of his mind and act as if she hadn't said them, though. She would continue to make friendly overtures to him periodically, till he either responded or rejected her once and for all. She thought she had worded it carefully enough so the former was more likely, but she couldn't be sure – first and foremost, he was a Slytherin, after all, and they notably didn't do anything unless it brought them any benefit. She wasn't certain if her companionship was sufficient for him to count it as such, especially considering she probably hadn't made the best impression so far. Looking on the bright side though, at least he didn't appear repulsed by her blood status. But alright, she had no confirmation if he was even aware of it, honestly.

And for all she knew, he was just exceptionally good at hiding it. Who knew how many things he was concealing, after all, besides what she had already noticed? She knew next to nothing about him, which was something she hoped she could rectify as time passed. He did take up her offer, albeit cautiously – it was made obvious during their next encounter, when he actually greeted her. At least he was honest, she thought, amused, his curt "Granger." not giving any indication that he was pleased about her presence. So time passed and his greeting to her still remained unchanged, but yet, it was different – there was a marginal difference in his tone she thought she detected, a slight warmth that hadn't been there before. They got closer, though analytical people as they were, if you asked either of them about the exact process, neither could give you an answer better than, "I don't know, it just...happened.." Friendship progresses as it generally does, of course, through little incidents that build up camaderie and trust.

Eventually, even as Tom continued to bristle at what he called an invasion of privacy, he gradually softened as he seemed to process the idea that she was there to stay, regardless of what he thought about it. He also wasn't quite as heartless as he tried to come across – the evidence of animal cruelty in his childhood might have sounded alarming, but no one ever bothered to ask for his side of it and they just assumed the worst. Hermione managed to pry it out of him unexpectedly when she passed him his birthday present. His look of shock would have been comical if it hadn't been so pitiful that it had been his first present ever. His telling of events in itself was to be treasured, so rarely did he show as much trust as he did in doing that. His apparent struggle to open himself up, when that came to most people so naturally, was almost painful to watch. Despite her curiousity, she had been sorely tempted to tell him that it was alright, that he didn't have to continue. And she would have, if not for the gleam in his eyes which hinted for her not to, that the release would be cathartic for him in some way.

His words didn't come out as fluently as they did in his normal speech – it was the first time she had seen him so…undone. In his agitation, some parts weren't quite coherent, but she gathered the bare facts and read between the lines to understand what he didn't verbalise. He told how about how he knew he couldn't maintain the indifference he displayed for much longer without taking out the pent up frustration that had built up from the constant taunts and supposed casual, playful shoves that he endured daily from the other children. So he chose to go the only other route he could see – to loose that aggression upon small animals instead of humans. And all he got for it was condemnation and mistrust from the first person who he met from the magical world, who he had foolishly hoped would take him away from the hated orphanage once and for all. He knew better now - after pushing aside his pride enough to plead to be allowed to remain at Hogwarts during the holidays - not to set himself up for such a fall. The disappointment had been crushing, and his subdued demeanor had only garnered worse teasing about how they always knew no one would want to keep him after they deduced the reason for his behaviour.

He had gripped his wand tightly in his pocket, wishing valiantly at that moment that he could use it against them. They wouldn't be so smug then, would they, if they knew he had the means to hurt them back too? Yet he somehow always managed to keep his head, telling himself he only needed to stick it out for a few more years. The rest of his already practically non-existent trust for authority figures had vanished then, with the apparent suspicion Dumbledore regarded him with upon the request he had made. The old man who he usually saw treating other students kindly made no attempt to even try to mask the blow from the flat refusal he had given. Not to mention the oblivious adults who had let the bullying go on for so many years when it had been right in their faces…it was certainly sufficient to erase his faith. Hermione tried to persuade him otherwise a few times, trying to carefully hint that despite his unfortunate experiences so far, that it wasn't applicable to all adults.

His only response though, was to flick his eyes over to her briefly to acknowledge he'd heard her – in other words, according her a measure of civility she knew he didn't just show to anyone, yet like she expected, he didn't just nod and agree with her words. He might try to mute his true personality from others in an attempt to blend in, but she sensed that his viewpoint on things was something he would never easily give in about, unless he encountered an argument which truly convinced him otherwise. She knew hers had obviously fallen short of meeting that criteria – for how could he believe her, when now she personally had begun doubting her own words? If nothing else, his tale had at least poked holes in her formerly positive opinion of the headmaster. She had to admit that how he handled the whole matter involving Tom was rather unprofessional. He had drawn conclusions based on surface evidence without investigating further, and had let that prejudice negatively influence his behavior.

What happened to the whole concept of innocent till proven guilty? What made it worse was that his actions had largely decreased the likelihood of Tom ever coming around to trust any adult again. She was aware that his wariness wasn't altogether unfounded, but he needed to learn that he didn't always have to be quite so self-reliant. She knew that he was used to it, but it had to be tiring, the feeling of carrying the burden alone all the time…she would willingly help to shoulder it if he would only ask, but regardless of all her good intentions, she was mature enough to realize that even if she did everything in her power, she might not have enough resources to help him find a solution to his problems. She sensed that what she knew about him, even if it was more than anyone else did, was only the tip of the iceberg. He definitely had many more skeletons in his closet than what she had already seen, and she hoped that he would come to reveal the rest to her in time, too. She was willing to let him have as long as he needed – he might not believe her reassurances, but she meant it when she told him she wasn't planning on leaving anytime soon.

It took her quite some time before she was glad for her actions then, for after that incident, he had seemed to clam up more tightly than before and the original ease their interactions had slowly taken on was replaced by an uneasy sort of tension. She guessed that he regretted his impulsive confession, remembering the blank way he had spoken of weaknesses and vulnerabilities in one of their other talks. Given the house that he was in, she thought it was nothing unusual since they all appeared to value their odd power plays so much. Add in the fact that it was a highly personal matter he had confided to her...it was no wonder he was worried. Any normal person would be to some extent, and she figured all she could do was to continue to treat him normally, to show that whatever revelations he made wouldn't change things between them. That his secrets would be carefully guarded with her and he need not worry about betrayal - even if she wasn't a Hufflepuff, she had loyalty in spades, and not just to her Gryffindor friends whom he barely tolerated but to him too.

She caught some unguarded glances from him sometimes, which served to support her theory – the way he looked at her – Merlin, she thought her heart would break from the emotion she spied in them. Pure, simple disbelief, that she was still here and hadn't yet run away screaming. He asked her that the next Christmas, trying to pass it off as a casual, joking query, but the genuine curiousity in his tone gave him away. She saw the moment when he realized it too, for he huffed softly, self depreciatingly, under his breath, as if to say _see what hanging out with you has done to me? _The realization that she had come to read him so well almost brought a sappy smile to her face, but she managed to catch it in time. She hadn't yet answered him, and knowing him, he would interpret it as some mockery and withdraw again. So she took a chance and made her first promise to him.

"I'll always be." She gave him a few moments to absorb her words and met his gaze directly, offering herself up silently for her mind to be read if he so wished before she reached over to give him a brief hug. She knew how he hungered for physical contact, yet he never initiated it and even seemed to shy from it sometimes. She wished she could carry it out more often, wanting to make up for some of the miseries she could not change, but knew he wouldn't allow it. For, as far as she had gotten, many things still had to be on his terms, and she let him maintain that illusion of control. She knew she was in trouble when her heart skipped a beat, when at one moment the sunlight shone on his face just right, and she couldn't help the errant thought that he looked like an angel. That handsome face had so much behind it though, that she despaired at ever figuring him out. It was all well and good when she hadn't known him so well, but how could she break away from him now, when she treasured each bit of himself he gradually revealed to her so much? And what more, when she had promised to stay?

She told herself firmly that she was being selfish, to even _think_ about going back on her word, even if she had no clue if he would want her company anymore the next year, when they no longer had the excuse of having to meet up to discuss the projects they were working on. It wasn't exactly the type of question you could ask someone outright, especially Tom, who shied away from the mention of anything personal like it would burn him, sometimes, despite the revelation he had made to her. She could tell it wasn't the kind of thing he did often, and only under great durress could he manage it, not that she had pressured him. It was the kind which built up when you bottled something up, kept it to yourself, the injustice you harboured. Those emotions couldn't be bound down for ages without exploding out eventually. She doubted he would just drop her like a hot potato considering what he had confided in her, but what did she know of what was going on in that complex mind,really? So she supposed she would just have to stick around till he told her not to straight out, and even then, only if she was certain he wasn't just pushing her away out of fear or some other misplaced emotion that thought it would be for her own good.

On further reflection, she really did think it highly unlikely, recalling the odd mix of joy and some other unnameable emotion that had flashed in his eyes ever so briefly when she had abandoned her friends and gone to sit with him on the train instead. He needed her more, after all – Harry and Ron wouldn't really miss her absence anyway, as busy as they were chatting excitedly about Quidditch and the upcoming World Cup. But anyhow, you never knew what strange notions he might get into his head. Her fears seemed unfounded, however, as he assented to her ideas of studying together readily enough. He didn't appear especially keen on it, but then again, she didn't think she had seen him show enthusiasm for anything. She worried about him, at times. There didn't seem to be much tethering him to life – not that he seemed suicidal or anything of the sort, but they were still so young, yet rarely did she ever see on his face the type of exhilaration which showed on Harry's whenever he flew. She thought it would be a beautiful sight, and made up her mind to try and coax it from him. She hadn't any clue about how she was going to manage to subtly quiz him about his interests outside of studying. It would certainly be odd for her to suddenly bring up such an unrelated topic into their conversation, and he would probably give her that wary look she hated, but she had to manage, one way or another.

She tried her best to push aside the romantic feelings that were starting to grow, because he hadn't shown any inclination towards feeling anything similar. Or perhaps he had but she had missed it, for all she knew – that wouldn't be of any surprise, considering he was practically at the other end of the spectrum of being obvious. But no matter, since love was one topic they hadn't ever discussed. She didn't exactly feel comfortable bringing it up, and judging by his view on things, she thought it likely that he would be just as cynical about it too and tell her something along the lines of not believing he was capable of it or that anyone could love him. No, she wasn't trying to imply that she loved him right now, but she knew that it was something that could develop into that if she allowed herself to nurture her feelings. She wasn't masochistic, she had no wish to experience the agony of unrequited love like the novels she had read before described, but she couldn't draw away either – he might deny it till his last breath, but she knew it would hurt him. Talk about being stuck in between a rock and a hard place indeed…what kind of choice was that to have to make?

To risk potentially hurting herself or distance herself and know that she was causing him pain? To imagine those unreadable black eyes silently accusing her, hating her for betrayal was more than she could bear. Looking at it that way, it seemed like she hadn't had any choice to begin with. She reckoned she ought to rue the day her curiousity sparked off this whole fiasco to begin with, but she couldn't quite bring herself to regret whatever she had shared – was sharing – with him. Her way of thought stood her in stead when he announced to her that he had kissed Cho Chang. She wasn't really sure what kind of response he had been expecting from her, but in that moment she wasn't exactly in the right frame of mind to analyse him as she usually did. Her reaction was along the lines of a shocked 'oh', then a steadier 'I see' and a strained silence where she bent her head over her work once again, though her attention was far from what would happen if fluxweed was added in place of knotgrass in a Blood-Replenishing Potion. She stayed for a while more, hoping it would let it seem less obvious that she wanted to get away after what he'd told her before making some excuse to go back early. She needed time to process it – what did he want her to say?

Something reassuring about his abilities? Concern over whether it was a wise decision? Or did he just want to boast to someone about it? Her last thought snapped her out of her slightly hysterical state, for even then she could realise that certainly wasn't like him. More likely it had been a test of some sort – she had no clue what for, but she hoped she passed it, nonetheless. And that was what mattered, not the slight to her female pride about why she wasn't desirable enough for him. And later on, it was what allowed her to clutch at the faint strands of hope, that his behaviour might have been out of jealousy. She had gone to the Yule Ball with Neville, mostly because he had asked and she had felt bad to reject him, when he had obviously gotten up so much courage to stammer out the question. She _had_ added on ever so casually after her acquiscence, "Just as friends, yeah?" and pretended not to notice how his face fell. Regardless of how guilty it made her feel, she thought it better for him in the end if she didn't lead him on. Tom had been strangely silent afterwards – the first time she had put it off to him being in what she termed not very eloquently as one of his moods. It had only been on their following encounter that she noticed how unusually reticent he was being. She hadn't seen him quite as closed off for a long time, and handled it in the most practical way that came to her mind. There was no point doing subtle when she knew she wouldn't do it well, so why not just do the opposite and get straight to the point? She thought ruefully that the shock value might even prod him into a honest answer. As it turned out, it did.

"I wasn't aware you had a date to the Yule Ball." was how he put it, but it would be just plain odd for him to be unhappy with not having told him earlier when he hadn't asked, right? So the only possible conclusion was that he was bothered about it, that he cared. In that case, her tactful explanation should have reassured him. And sure enough, the next time she saw him he was back to normal. Well, as normal as he ever was, at least. So two more years passed with them in this limbo, her still unable to stop wondering if the hints she got from him were really what she thought they were, waiting for something more concrete before she acted on any possible stray impulse which could cause the destruction of their friendship. Until the whole hassle with Ron and Lavender, which had been a huge irritation but something she was grateful for later, for the outcome it helped to bring about, at least. The rumours which had spread after he had fallen off his broom during Quidditch practice had been horrendous, really. Didn't anyone seem to understand that males and females _could_ just stay friends? It wasn't odd that he had murmured her name when he had been in the infirmary – looking at it logically, if she had met with a near death incident, she would have really reflected on her recent behaviour, regretted treating one of her best friends so horridly and wanted to make up for it too!

Harry was so obviously dancing around Ginny that no one linked him to her, of course, but her constant arguments with Ron were apparently seen as verbal foreplay? Even the teachers had taken to gently teasing her, Slughorn's sly winks were almost unbearable. Tom had withdrawn, unsurprisingly, and try to coax him out of it as she could, nothing she did seemed to manage to draw him out of the shell he had retreated back in. He pretended it was about something else, of course, telling her he was trying to invent yet another new spell or potion and was just distracted, but she could see the lie in the way he acted. She tried to talk about the subject casually nevertheless, hiding her reassurances as complaints over the emotional climate she had unwittingly gotten embroiled in, but he never seemed to take in the fact that she truly wasn't pining over Ron, that she wasn't mad at Lavender because she was jealous that they were shoving their relationship in her face so often – it simply irritated her, she didn't have any voyeurism kink and she thought their public displays were highly unnecessary. It stung a little but didn't quite surprise her all the same. Finally, desperate to come up with something which could break through to him, she decided to risk everything on the gamble she was going to take. She managed to lure him to the Room of Requirement, and once he had stepped foot inside the door, she clumsily kissed him. He was stiff under her arms, so she paused her attempt to try to convince him verbally once more.

"What more do you need, Tom? What other proof can I come up with to prove to you what I'm sure you already know, deep down? Don't pretend you don't know what I'm talking about, we've been dancing around this for years. No matter how many times I've said it and in how many different ways, you don't believe what I've been telling you for the past..month, maybe, and I can't continue like this. It hurts me, you know, knowing that you're lying to my face. Don't you know me well enough by now to know I wouldn't do something like this to you, no matter what the reward I would get from any dare or bet? No riches in the world would be worth hurting you that way. I'm not lying about my feelings for you. You can use Veritaserum on me if you want, or Legilimency. I give you my full permission to do so." She took a deep breath and met his eyes. She could see the war in them – she wasn't sure if it was him allowing her to glimpse how hard a struggle it was for him, or simply that the emotional strain of the moment had been enough for his shields to thin, but the deep seated mistrust that had been learned and was hard to displace was shining out clearly, battling the urge to allow someone in, for once, and let the possibility for betrayal in.

She was faintly surprised he hadn't jumped at her offer, and her heart sunk as he shook his head. His next action disproved her assumption that he had rejected her, though – he angled her head upwards and kissed her gently. She could accept that, understand the silent message he was sending. That he didn't need any potion to prove what she had told him, that he could overcome his doubts without any help from outside substances, that he could trust her even without any evidence aside from her word, that her constant presence in his life had helped to change him enough that he was willing to go against long ingrained instinct to finally try to open his heart up. She vowed to herself she would die before she did anything to disprove his belief in her.


End file.
